Some trails are beautiful because of the scenery.

Others are beautiful because every step feels like you’re walking through a story.

This morning I returned to Carlito Springs Open Space for the first time in nearly ten years.

For a while, it wasn’t even possible. The trail closed for renovations, and by the time it reopened, life had taken me in a very different direction. Between serious health problems and the long road back, hiking became something I remembered instead of something I did.

Today changed that.

Carlito Springs isn’t just another trail for me. It represents the moment I finally realized that I’m back.

Not where I was ten years ago.

Maybe somewhere even better.

The trail winds through cool cottonwoods, junipers, and ponderosa pines, crossing little bridges before climbing steadily into the hills above Tijeras Canyon. It isn’t the longest hike in New Mexico, but it demands enough of you that, for me, it became the most strenuous hike I’ve completed since my health began to decline.

Every uphill section reminded me how far I’ve come.

Every switchback felt like another step away from hospitals and doctors’ offices and toward the mountains I’ve missed so much.

Along the way I spotted one of the most striking black squirrels I’ve ever seen, its bright white tail flashing as it darted across the trail.

Then, almost at the very end of the hike—just as I was beginning the downhill—I found the day’s biggest surprise.

A prairie rattlesnake lay stretched across the hillside just above the trail.

It wasn’t rattling or threatening. It simply watched me for a moment before slowly continuing on its way.

Encounters like that are part of hiking in New Mexico. They remind us that we’re visitors in places that still belong to wildlife. I was happy to admire it from a respectful distance before continuing down the trail.

When I got home, I started reading about the history of Carlito Springs, and it made me appreciate the hike even more.

Long before it became Bernalillo County Open Space, this place began as Camp Whitcomb in the early 1880s. Horace Greenwood Whitcomb settled here while prospecting for gold, built irrigation canals, planted orchards and vineyards, and eventually transformed his homestead into a popular mountain retreat.

Over the decades it became Whitcomb Springs and later Carlito Springs, named by newspaper publisher Carl Magee after his son Carlito, who died tragically in a plane crash. The property evolved into a mountain resort complete with trout ponds, terraced gardens, orchards, cabins, and a tea room where visitors escaped Albuquerque’s summer heat. It even served as a tuberculosis retreat, taking advantage of New Mexico’s fresh mountain air during the early twentieth century.

One detail completely captured my imagination.

The owners planted more than 250,000 tulip bulbs along the mountain paths. Imagine walking these same trails in spring a century ago, surrounded by rivers of colorful blooms.

Today, nature has reclaimed much of the resort.

The stone retaining walls remain.

The old cabins still stand.

The springs still flow.

The trails continue to wind beneath towering trees.

You can almost feel the echoes of everyone who came before.

As a history teacher, I love discovering places like this.

As a writer, I can’t help imagining the lives that unfolded here.

But today, Carlito Springs gave me something even more personal.

It reminded me that healing doesn’t happen all at once. It comes one workout, one mile, one hill, one trail at a time.

Ten years ago, I hiked Carlito Springs without giving it much thought.

Today, I finished the hike with a grateful heart.

Sometimes the greatest journey isn’t to a new place.

Sometimes it’s finding your way back to one you thought you might never reach again.